


ideas

by eva_cybele



Series: Madelena Trevelyan [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eva_cybele/pseuds/eva_cybele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt "Can we pretend I didn't just say that?"</p><p>In which Madelena Trevelyan learns that getting drunk with two women trained as bards is never a good idea, except when it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ideas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionsenpai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/gifts).



After Corypheus had been defeated, Madelena Trevelyan had taken to holding non-critical strategy meetings in her quarters, rather than in the war room. The world no longer teetered on the precipice of destruction, and so debriefings by her advisers were less about armies and rift sealing, and more concerned with politics and intrigue. Gossip, essentially, and a love of gossip was a carefully cultivated skill of almost every Circle mage in Thedas. (There were, after all, only three principal sources of entertainment in the Circle: quick, furtive groping in whatever dark corner you could find; setting things on fire; and whispering about the previous two things.)

And if the leaders of the Inquisition decided to drink a couple of glasses of wine during these strategy meetings, then, well, who was there to judge them? Besides Cullen, and well, he had a strange habit of getting completely lost somewhere between the war room and the Inquisitor’s chambers, only finding his way back at the end of the night after Josephine and Leliana had left.

They were most of the way through the bottle of excellent Nevarran red that Leliana had dug out of her own personal stores, when talk shifted from what noble families were seeking marriage alliances within the Inquisition to the residents of Skyhold themselves.

"My lady, do you happen to know if Sera has been up to her ‘pranks’ again recently?" Josephine’s nose wrinkled in distaste, no doubt thinking about the last time Sera had decided everyone needed a laugh at the ambassador’s expense. It had involved tainting Josie’s favorite jasmine perfume with nug sweat — which had gone unnoticed by the humans in the fortress, but not Schmooples II. It had taken weeks to find out why he was following her everywhere, and being so… affectionate.

Madelena smothered a smile and shook her head. “I gave her a very firm talking-to after the last one — if she wants to stay, she’s not allowed to bother you or Cullen anymore.”

"Oh? And what about me?"

"Apparently she’s half-terrified of you since that incident with the crows last time."

The Inquisition’s spymaster lifted her hand in a graceful shrug that Madelena had to take a moment to envy. “I don’t see how I can be blamed for that. It’s hardly my fault that my darlings remember her as a sneaky little trouble-maker.”

Leliana’s tone was smug, and had Madelena been more sober, she might not have missed the significant look that passed between the two women who were comfortably ensconced on her couch. As it was, however…

Josie smiled behind her hand. “Well, the reason I ask is because the war table has felt a bit…wobbly, lately. I know she did something similar to our poor Commander’s desk, so I was just wondering…”

The words came out before Madelena had time to stop them. “Oh, that was probably my fault. Or Cullen’s, I guess. He was a little wound up last week. Though  _that’s_  probably my fault.”

Twin grins of triumph and satisfaction blossomed on the faces of her two friends as Elena blurrily played back in her mind what she’d just said. 

She stared at her empty wineglass in abject horror. “Oh no. Nonono. Can we  _please_  just pretend I didn’t say that?”

Josephine dissolved into full-body giggles, somehow managing to not spill her own wine, while Leliana just arched her brows and shook her head. Madelena had fought pride demons who looked less pleased with themselves than her spymaster did in that moment. Why did she ever think it was a good idea to get drunk with bards, of all people?

The redhead swirled her wine contemplatively. “The war table is a fine start, of course, but you should consider the possibilities of your throne. The Inquisitor and the penitent supplicant, perhaps?”

Madelena covered her face with her hand and sunk as deep into the cushions as they would allow. Turns out that was pretty far, and she slumped over sideways, hugging a pillow to herself.

“Oh Maker, Elena, your  _face_!” Josephine had completely abandoned any sort of decorum, and the tiny sliver of Madelena’s brain that wasn’t dying of mortification found it adorable and a little heart-warming that her ambassador finally felt so comfortable, even if part of it was likely due to the wine.

And of course, because the Maker apparently thought her entire life was some sort of bloody game, the door cracked open to admit one tired-looking blond Commander, whose expression very quickly shifted to complete bafflement. “Andraste’s mercy, what happened in here?”

Leliana fixed him with a cat-in-the-cream smile. “Just discussing alternate uses for the war table, Commander. I don’t suppose you’d have any ideas for us, hm?”

A quick glance took in the still giggling Josephine and the nearly catatonic-with-embarrassment (not to mention alcohol) Madelena, before his gaze snapped back to Leliana. Despite the bright red flush that was creeping its way up his neck, his voice didn’t waver. “As it happens, I have plenty, though I don’t believe that’s any concern of yours. Now, if you ladies are quite done with your ‘very important strategy meeting’, it’s been a long day, and the Inquisitor should get to bed, or else she’s going to be unable to sit through her morning meetings.”

It was his Commander voice. Madelena  _loved_  his Commander voice. With some difficulty, she raised herself off the couch and smiled at him, her voice sliding into a sing-song lilt that was only slightly slurred. “If anyone’s gonna make it hard for me to sit tomorrow, it’s you, Com-man-der.”

Josephine erupted in a fresh peal of laughter, and the red abruptly spread all the way up to Cullen’s hairline. “Maker’s  _breath_ , woman.” He sounded kind of breathy, though, like how he got when she did something he thought was completely audacious, but in a very, very  _good_  way.

“I think it’s time we left the Inquisitor and the Commander to their quarters.” Leliana stood, with not even the slightest wobble in her perfect posture, and slid an arm around Josephine’s waist, letting the younger woman lean against her shoulder while she giggled uncontrollably.

On her way past, she tipped a smile at Cullen. “You may thank me later, Commander.”

Madelena could hear them descending her staircase, and suddenly, they were alone. Everything else was kind of pleasantly blurry, but Cullen was bright and golden and very very pretty. She decided not to tell him that, though, and was very proud that the words stayed in her head where they belonged, and didn’t just come sliding out of her mouth.

Shaking his head, Cullen knelt beside the couch and slid one arm under her knees, and the other behind her back. She squeaked as he lifted her into the air, and the world spun dizzily as they crossed the room over to her enormous four-poster bed.

For some reason, her arms wouldn’t work quite right when she tried to drag him into bed with her, and the softness of the feather mattress felt like she was resting on Andraste’s heavenly bosom. The Maker’s own bride had to have really nice ones, right? Why did no one ever mention that in the Chant?

She must have been mumbling, because slightly-horrified laughter echoed somewhere above her head, and a large, callused hand smoothed her hair back from her temples. “Get some sleep, Lena. The blasphemy can wait until the morning, I’m sure.”

The last thing she was conscious of before sliding fully into sleep was the warmth of a broad chest against her back, and then she was in the Fade, which was for some reason full of desks and thrones and really cute ex-templars.

—

About two weeks later, a bouquet of Andraste’s Grace showed up in the rookery, with a simple note attached, unsigned but written in a familiar, masculine hand.

_“For the ideas.”_

Leliana’s laughter startled her ravens, and the scouts looked at her oddly the rest of the day, but she was already planning the best use of her next bottle of Nevarran red.


End file.
